|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 71
The place seemed much more suitable to his requirements than the
room in which he had dined: there was, to be sure, a strong smell of
tobacco, to which he was not accustomed; but after the shell-fish, the
tobacco did not seem disagreeable. There were quantities of books,
and long rows of sofas. What on earth could be more luxurious than a
sofa, a book, and a cup of coffee? An old waiter came up to him, with
a couple of magazines and an evening paper. Was ever anything so
civil? Would he have a cup of coffee, or would he prefer sherbet?
Sherbet! Was he absolutely in an Eastern divan, with the slight
addition of all the London periodicals? He had, however, an idea that
sherbet should be drunk sitting cross-legged, and as he was not quite
up to this, he ordered the coffee.
The coffee came, and was unexceptionable. Why, this divan was a
paradise! The civil old waiter suggested to him a game of chess:
though a chess player he was not equal to this, so he declined, and,
putting up his weary legs on the sofa, leisurely sipped his coffee,
and turned over the pages of his Blackwood. He might have been so
engaged for about an hour, for the old waiter enticed him to a second
cup of coffee, when a musical clock began to play. Mr Harding then
closed his magazine, keeping his place with his finger, and lay,
listening with closed eyes to the clock. Soon the clock seemed to
turn into a violoncello, with piano accompaniments, and Mr Harding
began to fancy the old waiter was the Bishop of Barchester; he was
inexpressibly shocked that the bishop should have brought him his
coffee with his own hands; then Dr Grantly came in, with a basket full
of lobsters, which he would not be induced to leave downstairs in the
kitchen; and then the warden couldn't quite understand why so many
people would smoke in the bishop's drawing-room; and so he fell fast
asleep, and his dreams wandered away to his accustomed stall in
Barchester Cathedral, and the twelve old men he was so soon about to
leave for ever.
He was fatigued, and slept soundly for some time. Some sudden stop in
the musical clock woke him at length, and he jumped up with a start,
surprised to find the room quite full: it had been nearly empty when
his nap began. With nervous anxiety he pulled out his watch, and
found that it was half-past nine. He seized his hat, and, hurrying
downstairs, started at a rapid pace for Lincoln's Inn.
It still wanted twenty minutes to ten when the warden found himself
at the bottom of Sir Abraham's stairs, so he walked leisurely up and
down the quiet inn to cool himself. It was a beautiful evening at
the end of August. He had recovered from his fatigue; his sleep and
the coffee had refreshed him, and he was surprised to find that he
was absolutely enjoying himself, when the inn clock struck ten. The
sound was hardly over before he knocked at Sir Abraham's door, and
was informed by the clerk who received him that the great man would
be with him immediately.
Chapter XVII
SIR ABRAHAM HAPHAZARD
Mr Harding was shown into a comfortable inner sitting-room, looking
more like a gentleman's book-room than a lawyer's chambers, and there
waited for Sir Abraham. Nor was he kept waiting long: in ten or
fifteen minutes he heard a clatter of voices speaking quickly in the
passage, and then the attorney-general entered.
"Very sorry to keep you waiting, Mr Warden," said Sir Abraham, shaking
hands with him; "and sorry, too, to name so disagreeable an hour;
but your notice was short, and as you said to-day, I named the very
earliest hour that was not disposed of."
Mr Harding assured him that he was aware that it was he that should
apologise.
Sir Abraham was a tall thin man, with hair prematurely gray, but
bearing no other sign of age; he had a slight stoop, in his neck
rather than his back, acquired by his constant habit of leaning
forward as he addressed his various audiences. He might be fifty
years old, and would have looked young for his age, had not constant
work hardened his features, and given him the appearance of a machine
with a mind. His face was full of intellect, but devoid of natural
expression. You would say he was a man to use, and then have done
with; a man to be sought for on great emergencies, but ill-adapted for
ordinary services; a man whom you would ask to defend your property,
but to whom you would be sorry to confide your love. He was bright
as a diamond, and as cutting, and also as unimpressionable. He knew
everyone whom to know was an honour, but he was without a friend; he
wanted none, however, and knew not the meaning of the word in other
than its parliamentary sense. A friend! Had he not always been
sufficient to himself, and now, at fifty, was it likely that he should
trust another? He was married, indeed, and had children, but what
time had he for the soft idleness of conjugal felicity? His working
days or term times were occupied from his time of rising to the late
hour at which he went to rest, and even his vacations were more full
of labour than the busiest days of other men. He never quarrelled
with his wife, but he never talked to her;--he never had time to talk,
he was so taken up with speaking. She, poor lady, was not unhappy;
she had all that money could give her, she would probably live to be
a peeress, and she really thought Sir Abraham the best of husbands.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|